


Emerging from the Shadows

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Maybe a little angst, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Elain and Azriel find themselves alone more and more.





	1. Staring Contest

“You’re joking.”  
  
“No,” Elain protested, “I’m telling you, I have never lost a staring contest.”  
  
Azriel surveyed her skeptically as she sat on the kitchen counter, small feet kicking against the cabinets.  He was a bit bemused by the turn the conversation had taken.  He had been helping her repot some of the larger plants in the kitchen garden when a thunderstorm had popped up, sending them both scurrying for the door.  Their polite small talk about plants and Velaris’s weather patterns had fizzled out quickly, and the silence had been growing awkward before Elain had suddenly asked, “Do you have any secret talents that nobody knows about?  Not even your best friends?”  
  
He had felt the blood rush to his cheeks.  He certainly had secret talents he would love to share with her in a most intimate setting, but he didn’t think she would want to hear about them.  An image of her arching her back and crying out in ecstasy flashed through his mind but he pushed it away mercilessly.  “You first,” he said, his voice a bit huskier than he would have liked.  
  
That’s when she had told him solemnly that she was unbeatable in a staring contest.  He wanted to laugh at the idea that sweet, delicate, naive Elain was in essence challenging him.  Azriel had spent centuries perfecting his impassive expression and he had drawn secrets out of many enemies by his cold glare alone.  “Are you implying that you’d beat me?”  
  
“Of course,” she proclaimed.  “Want to bet?”  
  
He covered his mouth with his hand, smothering a smile.  “What do you want to bet?”  
  
She pursed her lips as she thought about it.  “Whoever loses has to tell Nesta that her dress got ruined when it went to the laundress.”  
  
He laughed at that.  “Did it?”  
  
“No.  It got ruined when I spilled fertilizer on it.  But the laundress couldn’t get it out so…”  
  
He thought about it for a minute.  Nesta honestly scared him a little; he still didn’t undetstand Cassian’s obsession with her; but he had absolutely no doubts he would win. “Okay, you’re on.”  
  
“There are rules, though.”  
  
“Naturally.”  
  
“Obviously you can’t blink or look away.  If you talk or laugh or sneeze, you lose.  And we can’t poke or tickle each other.”  
  
“Fair enough.  When do we start?”  
  
She hopped off the counter and walked over to him, stopping a couple of feet away.  “On three,” she said, rolling her neck as she squared up to him.    
  
“One.”  He blinked several times and shifted a shoulder.  “Two.  Three.”  
  
He concentrated on keeping his face expressionless as his eyes met hers.  Generally he won any dominance contest involving eye contact by thinking of something totally unrelated to the situation at hand, but she was so close to him that all he could smell was lilacs and rain.  Her clear brown eyes, flecked lightly with gold, were calm and knowing as they looked into his.  Those thick lashes nearly touched her brows.  It was an effort to keep his eyes from flicking down to her full expressive mouth, or her smooth throat below that, exposed as she lifted her chin to be able to hold his eye.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her color beginning to rise and he wondered desperately what she was thinking about.  She took a small step towards him, and he couldn’t tell if it was voluntary or not, but still her gaze did not falter.  His own eyes were starting to burn with the effort of keeping them open, but he could not lose.  Not to Elain,  his brothers would never let him live that down.  Elain shifted a little again and swallowed, the noise audible over the rain outside.  He dug his nails into his palms.  
  
Suddenly, still holding her stare, Elain stood on her tip toes and brushed her lips against his.  He started back and blinked, then swore.  She erupted in peals of laughter, the sound playing like music through the kitchen.  A smile tugged at his own lips, at first reluctant, than spreading over his whole face, until he too was laughing helplessly.  They fell against each other, his arm wrapping around her shoulder, her cheek resting on his chest, until their laughter finally quieted.  She tilted her head back to look at him again, a smile still playing on those perfect lips, which he now knew were as soft as he had always imagined.  
  
“Hey,” she said, light dancing in her eyes, “I never said I wouldn’t cheat.”


	2. Someone Who Sees My Heart

Azriel could feel something was wrong as he touched down on the townhouse roof.  Over the months he’d been training Elain, he’d developed a bond with her, one based on mutual understanding and similarity of experience.  Not a mating bond, perhaps, but that didn’t make it less valuable.  He followed it down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the small kitchen garden.  She sat alone on the bench, eyes downcast, right hand playing with the fourth finger on the left.  Where her engagement ring had once sat.  
  
He ghosted through the garden and took a seat next to her, thighs nearly touching.  She didn’t look up, wasn’t startled by his presence.  Just sat there, sadness leaching off of her.  He wished he could touch her, take her into his arms and comfort her, but that wasn’t his place.  All he could do was sit there, soaking in the sun with her, and wait.  
  
“It was two years ago today I met him,” she said softly, still looking without seeing at the brick pavers that lined the ground.  “Two years.  He was the first person to really see me, my heart, not just this.”  She gestured to that lovely face.  “The first man I ever kissed.  The first man I ever loved.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Az said, feeling helpless and hating himself for it.    
  
“And then, because those bastards took me…he couldn’t see me anymore.  My heart is the same, you know.  I don’t think the Cauldron has the power to change a heart.  But what does it mean, if changing the outside made it so he couldn’t see that?  What if…what if he never really loved me, if he was just like all the others?”  A tear escaped her then, and she turned to face him, knee pressing into his thigh.  “I hate that I was fooling myself, just like I always do.  I hate knowing that I gave him everything, and he threw it all away because I was altered.  It wasn’t even my choice, they just took me.  And he left.  I want to hate him for it, but I can’t.  I just can’t.”  
  
Az’s chest ached at her pain.  He raised a hand to brush away that tear, but hesitated.  She was not his to touch.  Even if she had shown no sign of wanting to accept the bond with Lucien, even if he could sometimes feel her yearning for that closeness too.  There was nothing he could do for her, nothing he could give her…except the same thing that had always linked them, shared experience.  Truth for truth.  
  
“You know that Mor and I have a history,” he said, voice husky, shadows curling up over his shoulders.  She nodded.  “I loved her from the moment Rhys brought her to that camp.  She was this bright beautiful force of nature.  So fierce, so brave, so clever.”  
  
“She still is,” Elain murmured, and he nodded.    
  
“Most of the females I had known were beaten down.  Well, except my father’s wife.”  Her lips tightened at that, and his shadows swirled, ready to cover his face before he pulled them back.  “But not Mor.  She swaggered around that camp like she owned it.  Even Lord Devlin didn’t dare cross her.  She flirted with everything on two legs, but with me she was different.  Quieter.  More sincere.”  He shrugged and was quiet for a while, as memories that he had spent centuries trying to suppress surged.  He could see Mor, naked and bleeding from between her legs, from the many wounds over her body and breasts, from the nail embedded in her abdomen, the note that nail had held soaked in her blood.   She had been ready to give up and die when he’d found her, sprawled in the chill of the Autumn Court woods.  His throat began to ache, and Elain reached over and tucked her perfect, delicate hand in his broad scarred one.   
  
The touch gave him the strength to go on.  “After Mor’s family tortured her and dumped her, and I risked my life to go get her, I started to tell her what I felt.  I had been so certain she shared it, but she just…fled.  At first I thought she was just afraid after all that had been done to her.  But time went on, and there was always this dance between us.  She would draw me in, then shove me away.  Eventually I realized that I wasn’t what she wanted.  And that no amount of me wanting her would change that.”  He fell silent again.  
  
“Do you love her still?” Elain asked gently.  
  
He had never talked about this, never wanted to, but for Elain…to smooth those waves of pain still rolling off of her…“No,” he said, admitting the truth he had kept even from himself.  “I think I love the idea of her though.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
It was hard for him to think of how to say it, the words had been locked up in his heart for so long.  “I love the idea of someone who can’t hide who they are.  Even when Mor tries, her soul shines through.  It’s the same draw that Cassian has, and Feyre.”  He smiled a little, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “It’s the opposite of me, I suppose.”  
  
“Me too,” Elain whispered, so quietly it almost could have just been a breath.  For a long time, the only noises were the chirping of birds and the general bustle of the city.  Elain’s hand still rested in his, as if forgotten, and he fought the temptation to stroke the back with his thumb in case she decided to pull it away.  He would savor the contact as long as he could, just as he savored the press of her knee against his leg.  When she spoke again, her voice wistful now, he almost startled.  “Have you ever loved anyone else?”  
  
“No,” he said, “not like that.  I’ve had lovers, but there’s never been the same feeling.”  She seemed to shrink in on herself.  “But I want to.  I know that I can love like that.  And someday…maybe someday soon, I’ll find someone who can return it.  And I know that you can, too.  You can find someone who sees your heart.”  She squeezed his fingers and now he did rub his thumb across her hand.  He waited for her to pull it away, to retreat across that boundary that they had always carefully maintained, but she didn’t.  Her brown eyes looked steadily into his and he couldn’t help but notice the tiny gold flecks in them, that matched the gold tips to her long lashes.  Their breaths mingled as they sat there, and he savored the lilac and rain scent of her.    
  
Slowly, he bent his head to her, giving her a chance to pull away.  He brushed his lips lightly against hers, a whisper of a kiss, a question.  There was no way he could have anticipated the lightning strike that shot through him at that gentle touch.  He started to pull back, trying to master himself before he did something really stupid, but she cupped his face in her hands and pressed her lips more fully to his.  His scarred hands wrapped around her slight body, gently at first, then tighter.  He felt her tongue trace the seam of his lips and he opened his mouth for her.  A small voice in his head warned him she was still grieving, reminded him he was a bastard, unworthy, but the sweet taste of her, the feel her mouth, of her tongue, of her hands, overruled it.  Every nerve in his body was on fire, every drop of common sense had evaporated.  Never had any of his lovers made him feel like this.  One of her hands had moved to run through his hair, the other was wrapped around the back of his neck, and he knew he would have to pull away soon or they would take it too far.  Elain was not a casual fling, and he had no desire to take everything at once even if she would offer it.  So he slowly eased back, shifting to softer kisses, then to the corners of her mouth, then her eyelids.  They were both panting for breath when he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed in a silent prayer.  
  
“Azriel,” she said hoarsely.  He opened his eyes to look at her flushed face, her lips as swollen as his felt.  “Someone who sees my heart?”  
  
“I never said that someone wasn’t me.”


	3. Garden Sanctuary

Elain was fretting.  There was really no other word for it.  Azriel had been gone on assignment for days.  Days for her to relive the breathless kisses and shared confessions in the garden.  Days for her to think about how his tongue had tasted, the gentle scraping of his callouses against her skin.  Days for that ache in her lower abdomen to grow, for her to admit to herself that she wanted him, that nobody, not even Graysen, had sparked this feeling, this need, inside her quite like he did.  The problem was, he was due back today and she didn’t know what to do now.  
  
Contrary to what everyone thought, she wasn’t totally innocent.  Nesta had done her best to keep her sheltered, but she had been engaged, after all.  It wasn’t just her heart she had given to Graysen all those months ago.  He had been sweet, and gentle, and clumsy and overwhelmed.  She had never told anybody about it; Nesta would have raged, and less than a week had passed before Hybern’s soldiers had come and everything had gone to hell.  But now, she was finally climbing out of that black hell.  Finally starting to think about what she might want from this new life.  And Azriel…with that beautiful, loyal, fiercely passionate heart…He thought he hid it behind that perfect mask, but she could see how he loved.  Loved his High Lord and High Lady, loved his freedom and his friends.  Loved justice.  Loved her.  He needed someone who could see his heart as much as she did.  She just couldn’t figure out how to tell him what she knew, what she wanted.  
  
Elain returned her focus to the task at hand, cleaning up the severely neglected small walled private garden Rhys’s mother had apparently built next to the river centuries ago. Amazingly, the ancient rosebushes, though severely overgrown, were still thriving along the back wall.  Nearly everything else needed to be dug out and replaced, but Rhys had given her carte blanche to do whatever she saw fit.  She could already picture the bushes that would flower in early spring in that corner, smell the Sweet William and the peonies…Next year, this garden would be a riot of color and scent, but for now it was just a blank canvas.  What Feyre created with paint and brushes, she sought to achieve with dirt and plants.    
  
Finishing one bed, she groaned to her feet.  This was heavy work, but as she stretched out her back she surveyed the perfectly prepped soil and the large discarded pile of invasive plants with satisfaction.  Three beds done, four to go, plus the slow process of pruning back those roses.  Rhys had offered to prep the soil by magic as he had done for the large public gardens, but she had preferred to do it herself the hard way.  She wanted this one to be absolutely perfect.  Magic might be faster, but she needed to get her hands in the soil to know exactly what it needed, what might grow best in it.  Though she was finally among people who might not think her crazy if she said the earth spoke to her, she had settled for telling him that she wanted to do this particular garden alone.  He had gone still at that, and she didn’t think she imagined the hoarseness in his voice as he thanked her.    
  
She felt Azriel a moment before he landed next to her, his shadows withdrawing as he tucked in his wings.  Her heart leaped into her throat, but she managed to sound almost normal as she greeted him.  He dipped his chin in a polite nod in reply.  They hadn’t spoken since that afternoon in the kitchen garden, and Elain wished she could somehow erase the slight newfound awkwardness between them.  His eyes fixed on the roses climbing in a wild tangle up the back wall and his breath seemed to catch.  “Can they be salvaged?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Yes,” she replied.  “It will take a while to do it without risking the plants, but I should be able to.”  
  
His mouth tightened and those beautiful hazel eyes were tear-bright.  She had forgotten that Rhys’s mother had taken in Azriel and Cassian as if they were her own.  That in a very real way she had been the only mother they had ever known.  Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed.  He glanced down at her and tried to smile.  “I haven’t been here in a long time.  She feels so…close here.  She loved those roses, loved all flowers I think.”  He trailed off, lost in the memory for a long moment, before squeezing her hand in return.    
  
Elain tried to think of what she could do for him, for all of them.  “Do you think you remember what flowers she grew here?”  
  
He shook his head.  “I never learned their names.  I wish I had.”  
  
“If…if I showed you pictures?”  
  
He looked at her then, his expression unreadable, but she could feel the emotion rolling off of him.  “What are you planning?”  
  
She shrugged and looked away.  “Well, I don’t know if the conditions will be right or even if the same varieties of plants still exist, but I might be able to re-create it, or at least something close.”  Looking back at him, she was alarmed to see tear tracks down his perfect face.  “Unless you think that’s not a good idea.”  
  
His voice trembled as he said, “I can’t think of a better tribute.”  She reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the moisture on her fingers, then gave a bit of a watery laugh as she realized she had smeared mud across his face.  Taking out a handkerchief, she gently cleaned it off, never taking her eyes from his.  He grasped her hand as she lowered it and pressed it to his chest, and she could feel that mighty heart beating through his leathers.    
  
Elain cleared her throat delicately.  “I have books in my room with some good pictures, if you want to take a look.”  Without another word he wrapped his other arm around her waist and winnowed them into the townhouse.  She called out to let anyone there know she was home, but there was no answer.  Azriel followed her silently up the stairs and to her room, where she crouched and began digging through the stacks of horticulture books that sat next to her bed.  Pulling a couple of volumes free, she turned to see him standing awkwardly a few feet behind her, glancing sideways at her bed.  Smothering a smile, she gestured for him to sit on the bed and then sat next to him, opening the first book on her lap.    
  
They spent at least an hour going through illustrations, Azriel pointing out flowers that looked familiar while Elain took notes.  His memory was remarkably detailed, and by the time they were through, she had a fair list that she thought would do well in that beautiful secluded spot.  She sketched out an outline of her plan for him.  “It’s important that they not all flower at the same time,” she explained, lovingly stroking a beautiful color plate in one of the books, “and that not just the colors blend well but the scents too.  I don’t have enough to do the whole garden here, but I can fill in with some complementary plants and it will feel right, and that’s really what matters.”  She paused, still looking at the book and papers in her lap, but acutely aware of the warmth of the warrior next to her, of the fact that they were in her room, on her bed, and the irony of just sitting here talking about flowers.  “Thank you,” she said quietly, “for helping me.”  
  
She dared a glance at him then, and his hazel eyes were soft, and warm, and there was no end to their depths.  Her gaze flicked to his full lips, slightly parted now and so, so close to her, and then back to his eyes.  There was a hunger in those eyes, she realized, that matched her own.  She didn’t know if she was the one who leaned in or he was, but suddenly those lips were on hers and she was opening her mouth for him, encouraging that clever tongue to play with her own.  His fingers wrapped in her hair and she slid her hand against his cheek, feeling the soft shell of his ear against her finger tips.  Heat was stirring deep within her, and a hollow need.  Not breaking the kiss, she shifted so she was straddling him, her thighs pressing his, her knees against his hips.  She could feel the evidence of his response pushing against her, and a soft moan escaped her.  He pulled back immediately.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he almost stammered, “are you sure you -”  
  
She silenced him with a kiss, swallowing his protest as her hands slid down his body and slipped under the bottom of his shirt.  She needed to feel skin under her fingertips.  He gave a sharp intake of breath at her touch, and she could feel him start to withdraw, could almost hear that voice in his head telling him to stop.  “Elain,” he whispered as he shifted his lips to her jaw, kissing his way to her neck before pausing and resting his forehead against hers, his strong lean hands pressing against her shoulder blades.  She ran her nails lightly over the corded muscles of his back, and he shivered.      
  
“I’m okay,” she whispered back, “I want to keep going.”  
  
Something almost like grief surged through him, she could feel it in the muscles under her hands and she didn’t understand it.  He gently pulled her hair to the side and kissed the junction of her neck and shoulder.  “I think we should stop,” he murmured against her skin.  He must have felt her forming a protest, because he pulled away and looked her in the eye, cupping her face in those beautifully scarred hands.  “I have a history,” he said slowly, barely loud enough for her to hear him, “of rushing into bed with people.  I - I use it to protect myself, to keep from forming a connection.  I don’t want to make that mistake with you.”  His thumb brushed lightly over her lips.  “I want to savor every second.  I don’t want us - either of us - to have any regrets.”  
  
“I could never regret anything with you,” she replied, and she let him pull her tightly to his chest and rest his cheek on her head.  She could feel his heart beating against her breast, her own heart’s rhythm adjusting to synchronize with it.  Slowly, the heat of desire drained from her, and a different type of warmth seeped through her. There was a quiet joy and comfort in just being held like this, a steadiness that maybe Azriel had been seeking but never yet found.  Perhaps he needed not to be swept away in passion, but to find an anchor who was grounded in the earth.  So she let him hold her, let him tie himself to her, as the room darkened around them, not from his shadows but from the rhythm of the sun.


	4. Blooming

Elain crossed her fingers anxiously as she lined everyone up before the gate into the walled garden.  It had taken her weeks to get everything perfect.  Weeks of selecting the right plants, of organizing the layout, of digging and fertilizing, pruning and mulching.  Azriel had helped as much as he could, but after he had appeared with the fountain - the crowning glory - she had shooed him out.  She had spent nearly every day some variation on filthy and had loved every second of it.  Even now she had dirt under her nails from the last minute removal of some recalcitrant weed, and her gown was wet from kneeling on the fountain to feed the multicolored fish now residing in the water, but her heart was full.  
  
“Okay,” she said tremulously as she unlocked the gate, “come on in.”  
  
Rhys entered first, then stopped so abruptly Cassian crashed into his back.  The general placed his red-siphoned hands on the High Lord’s shoulders and looked around, mouth agape.  Azriel sidled in next to his brothers, brushing arms with Rhys, and Mor froze on her cousin’s other side.  Elain turned to Feyre and Nesta squeezing past the males, all three of whom appeared to have turned into statuary, a question in her eyes.  Feyre glanced at her mate and shrugged, mouthing silently, “This is amazing.”  Nesta said nothing, but her pride shone as she approached and gave Elain a squeeze.  
  
The seconds of silence dragged into minutes, and Elain began shifting from foot to foot, waiting for someone to say something.  The movement caught Azriel’s eye and he regained animation, smiling gently at her, reassurance and something else in that perfect face.  He gently nudged Rhys, who blinked rapidly and took a step forward, eyes sweeping the concentric rings of plants encompassing the full spectrum of color from white, through yellow, orange, red, purple, and blue.  He took Mor’s hand and they walked slowly around the garden, following the stone pavers that ran between the beds, looking carefully at the flowers, the trees in each corner, pausing here and there to smell a blossom.  Cassian followed a step behind, one hand still on his brother’s shoulder, and they stopped for a long moment under the trellis that Nesta had helped her build in front of the roses along the back wall.  Two of the ancient rose plants had taken quite happily to being trained up the sides of the trellis, and in another year or two they would cover it in blooms.  As it was, the three fae standing there, two black heads and a golden one, were art enough for Elain’s eye.  
  
Finally Rhys turned towards the fountain in the center where the sisters were standing and he and Mor walked up the stone aisleway, fingers trailing lightly along the bordering foliage which released a warm green scent in response.  When they reached the fountain, he touched the worn stone reverently, and a tear that had been threatening to escape from the first moment tracked down his cheek.  “Where did you find this?” he asked hoarsely.   
  
“Azriel brought it,” Elain replied, confused.  The shadowsinger looked almost guilty as he met Rhys’ gaze, but there was nothing but love and gratitude shining in those violet eyes.  
  
“I thought it was gone,” the High Lord whispered.  Feyre stepped closer at the pain in his voice, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to him and leaning his cheek on her hair.  He looked at Elain and tried to smile.  “It was my sister’s favorite, you see.  She called it her wishing well, and she used to put a coin in there every time she wanted something.  My brothers and I would try to figure out what she wanted so we could get it for her.”  He gave a little chuckle, and Cassian’s face flickered into a smile at the memory.  “We were wrong about half the time, but that didn’t seem to matter to her, since somehow Mor always managed to appear with the right thing or the right words.” He gave his cousin a watery smile.  “After…” His voice broke then, and he cleared his throat before continuing, “After she was killed, I couldn’t bear to even see it.  It used to be on the roof of the House of Wind, and I couldn’t…it disappeared, and then I…I missed it.  The last part of her… You didn’t just bring me back part of my mother here, you found my sister too.”  
  
Feyre was crying now, and Elain could feel the warm course of her own tears down her face.  Nesta was stiff with tension beside her.  Elain couldn’t tell if her sister was looking to go to war for her, or worrying about Cassian, who as far as she knew had never been silent for this long.  She watched the general as he sat on the edge of the fountain and dipped his fingers into the water, studying the curious fish who came up to investigate.  A muscle was flickering in his jaw, and his free hand came up and furtively brushed at his lashes.  He looked at Elain over his shoulder.  “Thank you,” he said fervently.  “This is…this is magic.”  
  
The others nodded, and Nesta went to her mate then, standing behind him without touching him, and the look in his eyes as he turned his face up to hers made Elain tear up again.  Azriel came over and offered her his arm, which she took without thinking, relishing in his warm strength.  He steered her gently around the garden, asking questions about the different plants, pointing out his favorites.  The light chatter eased some of the emotion stifling everyone, and soon the males and Mor were swapping stories of Rhys’ family, cleansing old wounds with laughter and tears.  As Cassian was doing a terrible impression of Rhys as a young Illyrian, Elain felt slim arms slip around her waist and Mor whispered in her ear, “You may be a seer, but this is your true power.  Loving, bringing people together, healing us…You’re a miracle.”  She pressed a kiss to her cheek before walking over to the bench where Rhys and Feyre were sitting, joining in animatedly.  Elain looked around, at her sisters and their mates, at vibrant glorious Mor, at Azriel who was gazing back at her.  At the family that she had found on the other side of hell.  And after all her loss, all her grief, all her fear, she felt nothing now but gratitude.


End file.
